A Falsis Principiis Profisici
by butaneandthebeast
Summary: Because I refuse to believe that seven years of educational misery is all that wizarding children have to go through, and thus I will invent more if need be. And need, does indeed, be. Also, it's as if vols 5-7 never happened. Nor the ending to vol 4. Dramione and other pairings Putting an M rating more in case than anything. M chaps will have warnings if and when.


Because I refuse to believe that seven years of educational misery is all that wizarding children have to go through, and thus I will invent more if need be. And need, does indeed, be. Also, its as if book 5-7 never happened. Neither did Cedric's death.

* * *

If someone had told Hermione Granger that she would still be schooling past Hogwarts, she would have believe them. She wouldn't have batted in eye. She would blink in surprise if she found out that her only classmate was one platinum blond heir extraordinaire who probably had his sneer insured for a few hundred galleons. If you told her that she would, in some perverse way, enjoy his company, she would have laughed first and hexed next.

The only reason why she hadn't yet hexed the person who had suggested it to her with all the dry wit of a salamander was because it was McGonagall. Hermione consoled herself with the fact that, rare though it was, McGonagall would need to eat crow.

Her pity party was broken by a voice that brooked no argument. "-And I am sure that you too, Ms. Granger, see the folly of running a whole university with one student alone."

Just because tones did not brook arguments did not mean she would not offer some anyway. "But just one more, and things become perfectly acceptable, do they?" She knew she was shooting herself in the foot, but some things just weren't to be borne.

"Of course not, Ms. Granger. There will be more students joining you. It is simply that some of the students have had to defer their entrance by a semester or two in view of the relatively recent carnage. Of which no one is greater witness," and at this phrase she peered over her glasses in a look apparently taught in the headmaster curriculum, "than you."

Hermione knew when to retreat. "I'll be up, packing. Is there anything I need to keep in mind?"

"Sometimes, it gets cold."

* * *

"Shall Poppet pack anything more for Master?" A tremulous voice asked.

"Poppet, the only thing you haven't packed for me is the kitchen sink. NO!" He shouted when her saw Poppet move, mistaking his sarcasm for an implied order, "The kitchen sink stays where it is."

Then his voice softened. Poppet was so ugly that she was terrifyingly cute; all she had to do was gather enough tears in her eyes and let her mouth quiver, and even his mother would secretly give in. Her given name itself was a badge of testimony. While no one would actually mention it, it was common knowledge that Lucius Malfoy, once much feared death eater, had christened Poppet; very discreetly, mind. He had coughed it into his hand over Narcissa's shoulder, and bright thing that she was, she had immediately caught the hint.

"Is there naught that Poppet can do for Master?" Tears had started pooling in her eyes. A querulous lip would soon follow. "Poppet shan't be able to see Master once he goes off."

"I don't see why not." Draco petted her head. "You can apparate big distances now, correct?"

"Yes!"

"Then it's settled. And if you still want to do something... How about a going away feast?"

Poppet clapped her hand, waterworks forgotten. Draco did not doubt for one moment that Poppet was naive to the way she emotionally manipulated her masters. After all, she was a member of the Malfoy family.

"What would Master like?"

"How about breakfast for dinner, since mother and father are not here? Or maybe instant noodles?" Instant noodles were a treat he and Poppet had discovered on one adventure, and it had since become a forbidden pleasure; Draco never knew how Poppet had gotten her hands on them in the first place, and thought it bettter to not ask. Some secrets were meant to be kept.

"Oh Master, we shouldn't!" Poppet exclaimed, but her words belied her apparent glee, as she clapped her hand over her giggles.

He smiled evilly. "Let's."

* * *

Hermione apparated to what seemed to be a university, if someone had handed over the architectural design to Poe. Following the map, she navigated several gates manned by headless knights, till she reached a banner hanging off the parapet. She was meant to address the banner, she remembered.

"Doubt thou the sky be fire." She moaned pitifully, doing her best impression of an American frat boy. It was the closest she would get to the sopping melodramatist that Hamlet was.

"Doubt thou the sun doth move." The banner replied in strident tones, enough to be heard across the other end of the courtyard, which by all rights should have been called something more along the lines of a field, or perhaps a steppe. It was then that she heard a terrified squawk from behind.

"We have to sing muggle poetry to a flag? Poppet, I am leaving."

Hermione had recognized the owner of the voice as soon as she heard it, but she had remained unmoving since she had been so condescendingly referred to. Or so she thought, till she saw Draco Malfoy being restrained by a miniature version of a house elf.

"Master cannot turn! Master wanted to help people! Master will become the best healer in the world!" Each sentence out of the tiny thing came out with a bit of effort. Clearly, restraining her Master was not an easy task for her.

"Poppet!" Draco hissed, "Not so loud!"

"She's called Poppet?" Hermione asked in astonishment, before she could help herself.

"Yes, madame." Poppet grunted out respectfully. "Poppet was named by her loving masters. Poppet was told that she is cherished. Is Madame Master's friend?"

Hermione paused for a moment. "Ye-es." She looked at Draco uncertainly, who had stopped in surprise in response to her answer. "In a manner of speaking."

Seeing her master stop struggling, Poppet turned around and gave a deep bow, inspiring much horror in Hermione. "Poppet is pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Poppet! You needn't do that!"

"Do what?"

"Bow!"

"Why?"

"Because! It's an act that lowers one in front of the other!"

"If Madame is so worried, she could just reciprocate."

And that was how Headmaster Ortas found Hermione Granger bowing to the Malfoy house elf.

* * *

"Since there are so few of you," the wizened old man said, "I took the liberty of... economically hiring."

"That means he didn't hire too many teachers."

"I know what he means."

Now that it had become amply clear that the two of them were fated to be stuck together for the entirety of at least a semester, Draco had adopted the insufferable attitude of a condescending know-it-all. While the know-it-all quality wasn't exactly alien to Hermione- though it was quite a different experience being on the receiving end of it- the condescension was just about insufferable.

"I see you both have much catching up to do." their esteemed headmaster stopped abruptly at the top of the stairs, for all intents and purposes addressing the air just beyond the nearest pillar." just as well. I have only just got here, myself. I thought that the semester started the week after." he paused. "Yes, quite. Now, I will allow Lancelot here to guide you to your dorm. I will hold a small orientation tomorrow." With that, he walked to his left and kept walking till the wall swallowed him in a gesture horrifyingly reminiscent of a snake swallowing it's prey whole.

Just when they were sure nothing could detract their attention from what they had just witnessed, their ears were assaulted with the most horrendous of screeches. If a hippo had been made of rusted iron plates and asked to gallop on the top of a hot tin roof, it would have made a noise in the general direction of this one. Thankfully the suit of armour caught their winces and muttered and waved till it could walk without making it sound like the collapse of a steel factory. Only then did he flip up his visor.

Instantly the pair were struck. "If you'll follow me." The blonde apparition said the sentence more like a firm suggestion, following it up with a dimpled smile to complete the blow. Both nodded dumbly till the reached the entrance, where Lancelot proceeded to usher them into a spacious cavern and then swing the camouflaged entrance shut behind him.

It was only after he left that the two were able to release their breaths, synchronised without effort or thought.

"So that was a full male veela." That was Hermione.

"A dead one." Draco.

"And still that powerful." She was finding it surprisingly easy to converse with him.

"And here I thought I made a big wave."

She snorted at that, and as if the glamour had lifted from them, they were able to take in their surroundings for the very first time.

"Please don't tell me we're sharing."

"I supposed we are."

* * *

A/N: So I've been writing this by the seat of my pants, and honestly, the writing is not even near my best. The whole problem stems from my inability to write comedy when I actually need to. Dark and sad fics of mine find no problem swerving into the comedy lane, whether I want it to be so being a whole separate matter, but when I'm actually gunning for comedy? Cue bullshit. But I thought I'd post this up anyway, since I'm making the effort to form full sentences. What I'm trying to say here is don't look for quality. Entertainment in the form of schadenfreude? Sure. But quality? Look away now./p

That disclaimer being out of the way, I decided that what this world really needed was Dramione hijinks. And where do hijinks happen? In university! (Or so the media tells me. I wouldn't know. My university life was one looping gif of crying.) So here're hijinks with many fluffs and like, a plot on the side. But the kind of side you don't really want. Like kale. Deep-fried kale.

Thought, critiques and general egg-lobbing are greatly appreciated 3


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